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<title>to see her again by carryonstarkid</title>
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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24709735">to see her again</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/carryonstarkid/pseuds/carryonstarkid'>carryonstarkid</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Gallagher Girls Series - Ally Carter</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Gen</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 10:53:46</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,065</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24709735</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/carryonstarkid/pseuds/carryonstarkid</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Requested Anonymously: "Catherine/Joe how they met?"</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>to see her again</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He swears he’s seen her before.</p><p>It’s the hair.  The hair is what makes her so obvious.   Joe doesn’t know why someone with her particular set of skills hasn’t dyed it or cut it or <em>something</em>, but the hair is exactly the same as he remembers—red and wild and vicious.  He’s seen her before.  He just knows it.</p><p>He remembers seeing the curls pulled up, away from her skin.  He remembers seeing drops of sweat rolling down the curve of her neck.  He remembers a black bra through a translucent tank top and he remembers a kick as lethal as her glare.  He remembers <em>her</em>.</p><p>And he’s scared.</p><p>Joe Solomon prides himself on being a man who doesn’t scare.  He doesn’t startle, he doesn’t squeal, and he doesn’t jump.  Joe is a man who sees all the angles—who knows when something is coming.  He’s never scared because he’s never surprised.  </p><p>But <em>she’s </em>here, and he’s seen her before, and he knows that there’s something about her that catches him off guard.  He knows that those eyes—bright and green and bold—are capable of spotting his weakest points.  He knows that those hands, as fine and fragile as they look, are capable of snapping his neck in two.  Looking at her is like hearing an oxymoron.</p><p>She spins across the dance floor like a vulture circling its prey.  It’s almost as if he’s waiting for something poisonous to take its bite at him, because he knows that the woman with the red hair and the green dress is perfectly capable of killing.</p><p>He’s seen her before, after all, so he knows that they’ve got that much in common.</p><p>There’s something undeniably dangerous about her—something that goes beyond her training or their nonexistent history together.  It’s that infamous gut feeling.  It’s that power his mind has to sound the alarms before he even has a valid reason.</p><p>And yet, there’s something else.  Something… intriguing.  It’s that same feeling he gets looking at a fire and wanting to reach out.  It’s that same feeling he gets when he’s holding a knife and has the urge to slice into something.  She’s dangerous, but she’s addicting all the same.  She’s a compulsion he has to soothe.</p><p>And then he’s dancing with her.  It’s standard, of course, for the men to make their way around the room while the women stay put and wait for their suiters.  Rachel had been grumbling about it all night, but Joe can’t think about Rachel right now.  He’s thinking about that summer he’d spent training.  He’s thinking about the hot days under the sun when he’d learned all he knows.  He’s thinking about what she had looked like from the other side of the field, and just how hard she can throw a punch.</p><p>“I wasn’t expecting to see you here.”</p><p>Her lips are a deep dark red, and when she speaks, Joe can’t help himself.  He has to watch them.</p><p>And then he realizes that there are actual words coming out of her mouth, and he takes comfort in the fact that he’s not the only one who had been thrown through a loop.  “I wasn’t expecting you to remember me,” he replies.</p><p>She pulls those lips back into a tight smile.  She’s young—no wrinkles.  Probably a few years younger than him, if he remembers correctly, but she looks so old.  Somehow, she almost looks wise.  “Oh,” she says.  “I never forget a face.  Or a name, Joseph.”</p><p>“It’s Joe,” he corrects. “And I’m sorry to say that I never learned yours, Miss…”</p><p>“You can call me Annie.”</p><p>“Why do I get the feeling that your birth certificate says otherwise?”</p><p>“Because it does,” she says quickly.  She’s got answers lined up.  “It’s a codename, but it’s appropriate.”</p><p>“Because of the hair?” he asks.</p><p>“My team seems to think that it’s hilarious to make Little Orphan Annie jokes at my expense.”</p><p>The way she says it makes him burn.  She’s got this nervous laugh—something that only happens because it’s what’s <em>supposed </em>to happen.  She’s laughing at the jokes because it’s easier to laugh <em>with </em>than it is to be laughed <em>at</em>, so she joins in.  “Your team’s never seen you throw a right hook then,” he says flatly.</p><p>She nods like this is a fair point.  “Yes, Joseph—”</p><p>“Joe.”</p><p>“—you could say my training is a bit <em>underutilized</em>.”</p><p>Joe knows the feeling.  He had been trained to kill—to take a life.  Second chances were not in his nature, but second chances were what the United States Government did best.  And third chances.  And tenth.  And twentieth.</p><p>The fact is, Joe hasn’t killed in years.</p><p>And he tries to forget the fact that he’s itching for a hit.</p><p>Except now Annie’s here, and one look at her tells him that she <em>knows</em>.  That maybe she’s feeling that same fight in her, too.</p><p>“Wise Guy,” someone says in his ear.  It’s Matt, finally calling in, and Joe’s heart feels about twenty pounds lighter.  He snaps out of whatever homicidal conditioning he’s been caving to, because this is <em>Matt</em> and Matt doesn’t deserve a friend who thinks like that.  “We’re out of here—the Prime Minister doesn’t suspect a thing, but you’d better get the hell out of there quick.  The dog’s not so oblivious.”</p><p>Dammit.  How many times had Joe warned him about the dog?</p><p>Joe looks down at Annie, her curls hanging at the side of her face, today.  He doesn’t even need to say anything before she pieces the situation together.  “Duty calls?” she asks.</p><p>“Afraid so,” he says.</p><p>“Nah,” she replies.  “You’re not afraid of anything, Joseph.”</p><p>He doesn’t correct her this time.  He doesn’t dare, because he’s worried that if he says anything the truth is going to fall out.  He <em>is </em>afraid.  Afraid of her.  Afraid of the surprise she brings.  Most of all, he’s afraid of that warmth she gives off.</p><p>But then he hears the dog bark.</p><p>And Annie lets him go.</p><p>And before he knows it, he’s climbing out onto the roof of an eighteenth century palace with nothing but his shoelaces and a pack of chewing gum to help him down.</p><p>But still, he looks over his shoulder, and he steals one last look.  He’s seen her before, he’s sure.  And dammit, he just knows he’s going to see her again.</p>
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